


can you focus on me

by arzoensis



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bondage, Collars, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Roleplay, rode hard and put away gently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arzoensis/pseuds/arzoensis
Summary: Pekka doesn't look at him in the car. Juuse probably deservesthatpart. The collar itches on his neck, but if he scratches at it or tries to shift it a little, Pekka might think he's trying to take it off.  And really, the last thing he needs is to get punished in a car.Juuse sniffs. He reaches for the collar.





	can you focus on me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from H.E.R.'s Focus.
> 
> I switched the Preds' playoff-clinching game to be at home, because I'm allowed to play in the space. Come join me in my playhouse, etc.
> 
> If, for any reason, you'd like me to explain any of the tags before you get wrist deep in this one, feel free to send me a message—anonymously or not—on [Tumblr](https://arzoensis.tumblr.com/), and I can respond to you there. Of course, if you'd just like to chat about Horny Boys, I'm there for other purposes as well.

Juuse’s grinning as he makes his way into the locker room, the team cheering all around him. He pulls off his mask, strips off his blocker and glove, plops down in his stall and just—lets it wash over him.

The room quiets down when Lavy walks in and starts talking, but he’s barely listening. Roman tosses a puck across the room and he tracks the motion with his eyes, but really, he’s floating in his own head. The sheer excitement of playing in the playoffs didn’t hit him until the buzzer went, with the team crushing in around him. He thinks he’d like to keep that feeling close for a while.

Pekka stands, clears his throat. He’s holding something in his hands, rubbing his thumb over it as he talks.

“I gotta give it to my boy,” he says, motioning to Juuse, and he cuts right through the buzz in Juuse’s head.

He stands, mostly on auto-pilot, takes Pekka’s hand when he holds it out for their handshake. It takes him a second to recognize what’s in Pekka’s grasp, and—god.

Juuse turns without being asked, lets Pekka sling the wide leather strap around his neck. It’s a joke collar, whatever the _fuck_ that means, studded with a ridiculous number of sharp metal points. The leather starts in the soft space under his chin, runs down his Adam’s apple like a throat guard. It’s too stiff to be something that he’d otherwise be used to, and its foreign cling _should_ be uncomfortable.

Pekka cinches the collar, pulling too tight for just a second before he buckles it into place. Juuse swallows as his throat constricts, breathes in hard when the moment passes. Pekka’s fingers skim along the nape of Juuse’s neck, tuck under the strap to check its tightness.

“Okay?” Pekka asks, quiet.

Juuse thinks, rather frantically, _This better not be a thing_. He thinks—he’s pretty sure it might be a thing. And now that he really considers it, Pekka was a little too practiced putting the collar on him, wasn’t he?

His breath hitches.

Pekka pats him on the back, turns him by the shoulders as if to show him to the rest of the room. There’s an impressive amount of cheering and applause. Juuse’s pretty sure that someone whistles.

Everyone wants a turn at ruffling his hair as they pass him in their post-game routine, shouting _Juice!_ at him, telling him how good he played. It’s not as if he personally carried the team to the playoffs, but he lets himself feel good that he was in net for the points that punched their ticket. That because of him—every pad save, every gloved puck—they didn’t have to wait one more game.

So maybe he holds on a moment too long when Freddie hugs him, rocks them from side to side. Maybe he leans into Roman’s hand in his hair, pulling pleasantly at the strands and scratching across his scalp. Maybe, when Joey plants a smacking kiss on his cheek, Juuse shyly tugs him in by his collar and kisses him back.

“Our boy’s _feeling_ it,” Joey crows, absolutely delighted. He gives Juuse a rough facewash, laughs as he heads into the shower.

Juuse smiles as he reaches down to unbuckle his pads. And—

There’s a _yank_ at the back of the collar. Juuse flinches, lets himself get pulled back with it until he regains his balance. He feels Pekka’s hand spread out around the back of his neck, his firm grip under and echoing the collar.

“You’re getting a lot of attention,” Pekka says, quiet. He’s smiling when Juuse glances at him, but Pekka’s jaw is clenched in a way that he recognizes, one that sends a perfect thrill down his spine.

He decides with sudden, sharp clarity—the kind he usually gets when he’s on his knees and staring into Pekka’s stoic face—that he knows exactly how to play this night out.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Juuse asks, keeping his voice purposefully bored. “I got a shutout.”

Pekka looks at him for a moment. “No,” he says, carefully even. “You’re not in trouble.” The _yet_ hangs deliciously in the air.

“Good,” Juuse says. He reaches down to his pads again. “You’d think I could get the night off since I cleaned up your mess.”

Pekka laughs, short and sharp and surprised. “Did you now?”

“If you didn’t play like you did against the Jets, we would’ve clinched already,” Juuse says. One pad drops to the floor. “I wouldn’t have had to work so hard.”

He wishes he could bottle up the way that Pekka freezes. Or just lock it up next to his heart.

There’s a long pause before Pekka talks. “Be ready to go in fifteen minutes,” he says, and then he stands and leaves.

Juuse grins to himself. They both know he’s not gonna be ready in fifteen minutes. He drops his second pad on the floor.

 

 

Juuse takes his time in the shower. Shampoos his hair, even though he usually does it at home because Pekka has the detachable shower head with the nice jets. He shaves too, despite the fact that his stubble hasn’t grown out. It’s mostly an excuse to stand in front of the mirror and carefully pat Pekka’s aftershave onto his skin.

He checks the time as he puts his watch on. It’s been forty-five minutes. It’s as good a time as any to face the music.

Pekka’s waiting by the exit, leaning against a pillar. He’s got his phone in one hand but he’s not even using it—if he looks at the floor any harder he might burn a hole through the concrete.

“Sorry I took so long,” Juuse says. Pekka’s eyes flick to him. “I figured I’d wash my hair.”

Pekka doesn’t say anything, just turns and starts walking. Juuse hurries after him. Pekka’s got longer legs—he’s already sitting in the car by the time Juuse catches up to him. He settles into the passenger seat.

“This kinda itches,” Juuse says, half to himself, as he reaches for the collar.

“No.” Pekka says, his tone fucking _vicious_ , and Juuse doesn’t even think about it when his hands rest against his thighs, the perfect picture of someone who listens. “Keep it on.”

“Okay,” Juuse murmurs.

“So you’re good now, huh?” Pekka says, and it’s almost a snarl. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. “You think you can just mouth off to me in front of everyone?”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Juuse starts. Pekka grabs him by the chin, forces him to turn his head to look.

His eyes are so gentle. He’s smiling a little. “Is this okay?” he asks, so quiet that if they weren’t right next to each other, Juuse would never hear it.

And Juuse loves him, loves him so _much_ , wants to get on his knees and tell Pekka over and over and over again, until the words don’t mean anything anymore, and then say it again just to make sure.

“Yes,” Juuse breathes. “Yes, absolutely.”

Pekka winks at him.

And then he _shoves_ , hard enough that Juuse’s shoulder knocks into the door. It won’t make him bruise, but it’s surprising enough to make him exhale.

“ _Wasn’t doing anything_ ,” Pekka repeats, almost under his breath. He turns on the ignition. “Fucking laughable. You just love getting under my skin.”

Juuse doesn’t even have a response to that. It might be a scene, but it’s definitely true. He bites back a smile.

“You can spend the rest of the ride home thinking about how you’re gonna make it up to me,” Pekka says, the disinterest practically dripping from his voice, and all Juuse can think of is _I can’t wait._

Pekka lets him have a glass of water—and a false sense of security—before he grabs him by the back of the collar, practically drags him into the bedroom. Juuse would be giggling if his attention wasn’t completely taken up by the stairs. It’s hard to climb them when you have to find the steps with your feet while moving backwards.

He’s shoved rather sloppily to the carpet once they’re inside. At least he still has his pants on so his knees aren’t fucked up yet. He leans against the bed, meets Pekka’s gaze as he stands over him.

“So,” Pekka says. “Did you figure out your punishment?”

Juuse pretends to think for a moment. “Not really,” he drawls. “Don’t think I deserve one.”

Pekka slaps him across the face. Juuse gasps with it, the sting red-hot on his cheek. The look on Pekka’s face shouldn’t make something pleasant crawl up his spine. Pekka switches hands, slaps him again, and the force of it brings tears to Juuse’s eyes. It hurts, hurts almost too good, and he knows what he must look like, breathing hard already with his cheeks on fire.

“You should re-think that answer.” Pekka says. Juuse hates and loves in equal measure how good he is at making his voice sound bored. Before Juuse can open his mouth he slaps him again. Fast. He can move so fast when he wants to. Languid otherwise.

Pekka gets one hand in his hair, holding him steady. He leans down, like he’s talking to a dog. “Well?” he asks. He’s watching Juuse expectantly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Juuse whispers.

“That’s a start.” Pekka lets go of Juuse’s hair. “Take your clothes off.”

Pekka turns around, moves over to the dresser to dig around in one of the drawers. Juuse knows better than to stand, stays kneeling and hurriedly yanks at his belt. He’s almost done with his shirt when Pekka turns around again, leather cuffs in one hand and a length of chain in the other.

“Not done yet? You really do love making me wait.”

Juuse swallows. “Almost, sir—”

Pekka rolls his eyes at him. Fuck. His hands are trembling as he tugs at his buttons, a combination of nerves and excitement.

“You’re just trying to make me help you, aren’t you?” Pekka scoffs. He crosses the short distance between them, tosses the cuffs and chain on the bed. “Can’t do one thing by yourself.”

Pekka grabs the collar and pulls—hard. Juuse chokes. He scrambles to get his feet under him, hands flying up to his neck, trying to get some relief from the pressure on his throat. As soon as he’s standing, Pekka lets go. Juuse inhales, a shuddering, shaky breath.

Pekka pushes Juuse’s shirt off his shoulders, then tugs his undershirt off. He seems to be having a good time manhandling Juuse around—unsurprising, really—so he sticks with it: pushes Juuse until he walks over to the mirror in the corner, parks him right in front of it.

“Look at yourself. No cheating now,” Pekka says. “Don’t want you to know your punishment before you get it.”

Pekka grabs his hands and tucks them against his back. Juuse doesn’t struggle, doesn’t try to rip away from the firm grasp holding him in place, just stares into his own red face. He figures that _could_ be a part of the game they’re playing–bolt down the hallway and see how long it takes for Pekka to catch him. But he’s too worked up to extend it, to try and get Pekka to shove his face into the carpet and a knee into his back. As much as he likes that, he did still play a game earlier. And it’s not like he isn’t gonna get off from what Pekka has planned.

The cuffs go on easy. They’ve done this enough times, though usually it’s with Juuse’s hands in front of him. There’s a tug at the back of the collar, then his hands are pulled up by the cuffs. It takes him a moment too long to realize that the two sensations are connected. Literally.

Pekka must’ve spent some time researching this one, because Juuse’s absolutely _speechless_ when he relaxes his arms and the collar tightens around his neck. The fucking chain. He has to keep his hands tucked right into the small of the back—a position that’s going to get exhausting fast—and even then the pressure against his throat is obvious.

He’s completely, utterly, keenly trapped in this simple little contraption that Pekka’s made.

“Not a lot of room to experiment with, hm?” Pekka says. He pulls on the middle of the chain like it’s a bowstring, and Juuse stumbles into him. “Well, let’s try not to cut off too much air.”

Pekka leads him backwards, sits on the edge of the bed. He turns Juuse around with a hand on his hip, takes a moment just to _look_ before he shoves Juuse down by his shoulders, puts him right between his knees. He rubs a thumb over Juuse’s cheekbone, then down and over his lips. Lingers there patiently until Juuse’s tongue flicks out to drag across the ridge of his thumbnail.

“You can take me out,” Pekka says, motioning.

“How would you like me to do that, sir?” Juuse asks, and if Pekka punishes him for the sarcasm dripping from his voice, well, it couldn’t be worse than what’s currently going on.

“You really can’t figure it out yourself.” Pekka sighs. “I guess you could always use your teeth.”

Juuse glares at him.

“Still feeling a little combative, are you? Well, I guess you might be right,” Pekka concedes. “I can’t have you drooling all over my pants, can I?”

He pulls lazily at his belt, taking his time getting the strap of leather out of the loops. Juuse can’t help but watch the flash of the buckle, the way that Pekka tosses it carelessly to the side. They’ve had some nice times with Pekka’s collection of belts.

“This pair’s above your pay grade, but you would know,” Pekka says conversationally. Like he’s not dragging Juuse in by his hair. “Haven’t been able to buy another thanks to your expensive taste.”

Juuse lets Pekka press his face where he wants, breathes in his smell. He brings his own body wash to the rink, and Juuse would bathe in the scent (though, technically, he does). Rubs his cheek along the length of his cock like he can’t get enough of it. The front of Pekka’s boxer briefs is soft and smooth against Juuse’s skin.

“Taking you to the restaurants you like. Buying you the clothes you want.” Pekka sighs, _so_ dramatic. He’s milking this one, as if he doesn’t get off on spending his money on the things that Juuse wants. He almost rolls his eyes.

Instead, he opens his mouth around the head of Pekka’s cock, not quite half-hard, gets the fabric wet with his spit. He looks up at Pekka, makes his eyes big and his face sweet. Pekka hums, his fingers stroking through Juuse’s hair, down his temple, his cheek.

“Good.” Pekka pushes his underwear down a little, just far enough for him to pull his cock out. Not all the way hard yet, and Pekka holds it out on the palm of his hand like an offering. Juuse touches his lips to it, closes his eyes at the first press of pre-come to his mouth.

He swirls his tongue over the head, lapping over the foreskin. He can almost feel Pekka’s stare boring into him.

“You know how to apologize, don’t you?” Pekka asks, low. “You know how good you are at this.”

Juuse looks up at him, swallows him down as far as he can. Pekka hits the back of his throat and he coughs, eyes watering as he slides off to catch his breath.

“You can do better than that,” Pekka says. He sounds bored again. Juuse shakes his head to clear it, licks at the head the way he knows Pekka likes until another spurt of pre-come coats his tongue.

Pekka makes an impatient sound, holds him by the back of his head, slides him back onto his dick. Juuse gags again, fights against Pekka’s hand, but Pekka’s so much stronger than him, holds him there for a moment more before he lets him cough up his dick, strand of spit stretching from Juuse’s mouth to the head of his cock.

Juuse gasps, and his eyes are already starting to overflow. Pekka _tsks_ at him. “There’s nothing to cry about,” he says, thumb smearing through the wet on Juuses face. He’s got a vague smile on his lips. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Juuse nods as he breathes in. Tries to wipe his eyes against his shoulder. He pushes back down, swallows around the inches crawling down his throat. He almost manages to fit Pekka’s entire dick in, nose just barely grazing against skin. But he twitches, or Pekka moves, and then he’s gagging again, choking it out until he can breathe, Pekka’s wet cock resting against his face. Juuse’s still breathing hard as Pekka rubs against his face, leaving trails of spit on his cheeks.

“Such a good boy when you want to be,” Pekka says, voice low. He pushes the hair out of Juuse eyes. “Aren’t you?”

Juuse nods furiously.

“Why don’t you show me what else you can do then,” Pekka says, and he pulls Juuse up by the back of his collar.

Juuse isn’t expecting it when Pekka kisses him, and he certainly didn’t think that he’d do it so gently. It’s a careful press of their lips, one that Pekka deepens gradually until Juuse’s squirming, panting for breath. Pekka’s hands cradle his face, holding him certain and steady, and Juuse lets him until he pulls away with one final kiss.

Pekka looks at him like he can’t bear to look away, the kind of yearning gaze that makes Juuse want to tuck his face into Pekka’s neck and curl up in his lap like a pleased cat. It makes Juuse want to press his hands and body against as much warm skin as he can, and the fact that he isn’t might as well be a tragedy.

“You look so pretty today,” Pekka murmurs. “Are you gonna be good for the rest of the night?”

Juuse quirks his head, the chain shifting against his back. It’s an out, he realizes. To leave the characters and headspace for another day and just—not worry about everything else. Just be right here.

“Yeah,” Juuse murmurs.

Pekka kisses him on the corner of his mouth, his hand reaching back to unhook the chain from the collar, then the cuffs. The chain falls with a clatter to the floor, and Pekka unbuckles the collar with a quick motion that doesn’t even tug on Juuse’s neck. Though with it missing he feels oddly… bereft.

“Do we have a different one?” Juuse asks. “I still—I want to wear it.”

“There’s one in the dresser,” Pekka says after a long pause, self-conscious, as Juuse’s hands slide free from the cuffs. “I bought it a while ago.”

Juuse laughs. “You’re so obvious, daddy.”

“You’re the one who kept asking for one,” Pekka says, grumpy, but he’s smiling too.

It doesn’t take long for Juuse to find it. It’s a beautiful thing with the careful marks of something handmade, simple tan-brown leather and a gold-colored buckle on the front. Just a little wider than his thumb. It looks expensive. And custom. The idea of Pekka ordering it online and getting it shipped to the house is genuinely very funny (he wonders if he bought it locally—Pekka’s been into that lately) but Juuse thinks Pekka wouldn’t appreciate it if he burst out laughing.

He brings the collar to Pekka, kneels neatly between his legs. Tilts his head up and closes his eyes. Pekka gently brushes the hair out of his eyes, kisses him on his forehead—and then Juuse feels the smooth pull of the leather across his throat.

“It looks good on you,” Pekka says. “I should get you a bell.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep,” Juuse says, and if he sounds a little breathless it isn’t _his_ fault.

Pekka laughs, and Juuse hitches himself up, crawls into Pekka’s lap like he’s wanted to do for what feels like hours. Like this, he can look into Pekka’s eyes, so warm and fond and _proud_ , always so endlessly proud of Juuse and what he does, the way that he has always, always, risen to the challenge.

(Juuse has never and will never read too much into the way that Pekka looks at him. It’s all Pekka will talk about, once you get him going.)

Pekka’s fingers draw across his stomach, just above the hard shape of his cock, and Juuse shivers at the touch. He’s—quite frankly, he’s too worked up to handle being teased still, not when he’s been so good and even Pekka said so.

“Please,” Juuse says, and he’s not sure what he’s asking for, just knows that he has to.

Pekka wraps one large hand around the both of them, jerks them both off like he has all the time in the world. Slow, steady—not quite arrythmically, but Juuse swears he can feel that helpless, incredible shiver down to his gut. He can’t hold still even with Pekka’s firm grasp on his lower back, tries to press closer and closer and lets his hips rise and fall with Pekka’s hand.

When Juuse comes Pekka kisses him through it, one hand dragging deliciously through his hair. Pekka loops a thumb into the collar, and just holds on as he buries his face into the burning hollow of Juuse’s throat.

 

 

Pekka cleans the both of them up and brings him a glass of water and a fucking charcuterie board, because he’s absolutely ridiculous when he wants to be. Juuse certainly isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to lounge in bed and eat tiny amounts of cheese and crackers, but he’ll make fun of Pekka the entire time.

“I was gonna have us eat it today anyway,” Pekka says, exasperated. “Just, you know. The other thing came up.”

“No complaints here,” Juuse says cheerfully. He makes a little stack of crackers and salami and cheese, shoves the whole mess into his mouth.

Pekka’s surveying him again, propped up on one arm with the blanket pulled up to his waist. Looks so pleased even while Juuse snaps a cracker in half trying to use it to dig up some brie.

“You’re so good,” Pekka says, fond. “Just for me.”

Juuse hums. It’s the truth. That he’s good, first of all, and that he does it all for the person who sees him like he’s a light show in the sky.

Pekka reaches over, brushes his hand against the soft hollow of Juuse’s throat. It must be rubbed raw and red—Pekka’s fingers are gentle, barely a touch, and it still makes him wince.

“You’re gonna get a lot of shit for this,” Pekka says, and Juuse can’t help but preen under his touch. “I can hear PK now.”

“That’s okay,” he says, soft. “I wanna let everyone know I’m yours.”

“Yeah?”

Juuse hums. “When you treat me this good, why not?”

Pekka laughs, turning his face into his hand like he’s embarrassed about roughing Juuse up on occasion. And Juuse can’t stop himself from smiling, from watching Pekka open his eyes, finally, and look at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey sorry I said "wrist deep in this one" earlier, that was out of line


End file.
